


Mirror's Edge

by lissendra



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28752462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lissendra/pseuds/lissendra
Summary: "I'm not afraid of death, I've been living on unearned time since I got here. I just...I don't want to die in this nightmare. I want it to be counted."
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Mirror's Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be added as they become relevant. If you see any glaring continuity errors, please point them out. Right now I have this planned out and going smoothly, but be warned: I've never finished a fic and the likelihood of this being the first is vanishingly small. Updates will happen when they happen, or they won't.

He'd walked for hours, delirious with pain, until he had no idea how far he'd gone or in what direction. He'd wanted to leave the flaming wreckage of his stolen shuttle behind as quickly as possible, in case someone had scanned for life signs and beamed down to finish the job, but that had meant staggering off into the wilderness without a tricorder or a plan. It was a miracle he hadn't wandered off a cliff.

He'd only stopped when he heard a voice speak to him out of the darkness. A man's voice, old and kind, saying how unusual it was to be stumbled upon without meaning to be.

His first thought was that the pain and infection were making him hallucinate. It'd been two years and eight months, give or take, since he'd experienced genuine kindness. He'd thought he'd found it before, a couple of times, but each time it'd turned out to be false. The feint before the strike, and he has the scars to prove it.

Maybe he's too stupid to learn, or too hurt to care, because he'd let the man wrap his hands around his too-thin arm and gently lower him to the ground as his injured leg gave out. He'd let the man ask him questions, and given mostly true answers.

He's still with him now, hours later. He doesn't think he'll be getting up again.

"It sounds like you've had quite a run."

"Longer than I should have had," he says. "Longer than I deserved."

"Well, if you'll pardon my asking...if you don't think you deserve it, why keep running?"

He doesn't think he has an answer to that, at first. He thinks about making something up, some empty platitude about _hope_ or _perseverance_ , or just keeping his mouth shut.

"None of this seems real," he says instead. "I'm not afraid of death, I've been living on unearned time since I got here. I just...I don't want to die in this nightmare. I want it to be counted."

He's not sure the man understands what he means, he's not sure _he_ understands what he means, but there's silence for a while. Finally, the man speaks again.

"What if...that were still possible?"

He laughs, and instantly regrets it. His ribs are in no shape for laughing. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. What if this was one nightmare you could still wake up from?"

That's a cruel question to ask a man in his position, and he almost says so. He knows he's not leaving this planet, not leaving this _clearing_ , alive. But something about the man’s tone of voice stops him. He can't see his face, but the question has an urgency to it that makes it sound genuine.

"If I could go home...yes. God, yes."

"Its not exactly _home_ I'm offering," the man replies. He sounds sincerely regretful at that. "A long way from it, in fact, in every sense. It'll be nearly as alien to you as this place, and some parts will be just as cruel."

He takes that in for a minute. His brain is getting too sluggish to give the man's words the consideration they deserve, but he tries anyway.

"Christ, you...you'd make a horrible salesman. Does it have _anything_ to recommend it?"

The man doesn't reply immediately. But then- "It's...not here?"

He laughs again, much weaker than before, but doesn't answer. The man sighs, and continues.

"Look, you have exactly one opportunity to maybe not die in the next ten minutes. I didn't think you'd appreciate me blowing smoke up your ass about how hard its going to be. But there's an opportunity for life there, a good one. One that could count for something. Here...here, there's just death."

He hears the man move off a bit, and then a tremendous sound fills the clearing. Even with his ruined eyes he can see a huge area of shifting light, swirling in an otherwise black void.

"Just...think about it, _quickly._ None of us has all day."

* * *

"Oh! One more thing, almost forgot..."

Michael freezes, her hand hovering over her combadge. She'd just watched Phillipa disappear through the Guardian's portal, and was about to contact _Discovery_ for a beam-out when the entity interrupted.

"Yes?"

Carl lifts his rolled-up newspaper, and gestures to the still open gateway. "I've got another…lost soul out there, elsewhere and else-when, in close to the same boat as your friend. Think you could give him a hand?"

Michael sucks in a freezing breath, but doesn't answer. Her first instinct as a Starfleet officer, bound to aid those in need, is to say _yes, of course._ But something about the wording of the question keeps her silent. There was an element of expectation to it, of obligation.

"Why are you asking me? Did you ask anyone before sending Phillipa through?"

Carl chuckles. "No, I did not. I think we both know the good Emperor can take care of herself. This one, though...I couldn't just send him through to any old time or place. I need a responsible adult to unload him on."

"And you think _I'm_ the best person?"

Something about Michael's incredulous question turns his smile into a knowing smirk. "Out of my available options, I'd say you're damn near _perfect_."

This does absolutely nothing to reassure her. She's not first officer anymore, specifically for taking matters into her own hands, and it feels wrong to volunteer responsibility for a stranger on behalf of _Discovery_. What if he's dangerous? What if his presence in this time and place violates the Prime Directive, or the ban on time travel?

"You made Phillipa go through some kind of...trial, I guess, before sending her off. You said it was to make sure she fit there. Have you done the same to him? Can you say he isn't a danger to _Discovery_?"

"The situation isn't _exactly_ the same," Carl says. He looks like he's choosing his words very carefully. "I can guarantee his presence here will be no more disruptive than yours is."

"Can I contact my captain first?"

"What could you possibly ask your captain that wouldn't reveal my true nature?" Carl counters. "Look, this is the situation at hand. There's a man out there who needs your help. Yes or no?"

Michael sighs. No more information would be forthcoming, and there's no higher authority to appeal to. It feels intentional, like she's the one being tested. But with the available information, there's only one answer that's consistent with her oath to Starfleet and her own moral compass.

She just hopes this won't be another thing Saru has to forgive her for.

"I am almost certainly going to regret this, but...yes."

Carl beams, looking immensely relieved at her answer. "Excellent! I thought I was going to be stuck staring at his corpse for the next few hundred years."

Michael's attention turns to the portal in alarm. "His _corpse_?! Is he injured?"

"Yeah, you might want to beam him directly to your sickbay. I'm just the non-corporeal psychic projection of a doorway through multidimensional space-time, but even I know you humans are supposed to keep the red stuff on the inside."

Before Carl is even finished speaking, Michael can see a dark shape exiting the portal. It moves strangely, too short and slow to be an upright human man. _He's on his hands and knees_ , she realizes, crawling out of the vortex with what looks like excruciating effort.

He collapses face down in the snow as Michael reaches his side. _Skin and bones_ is her first thought, as she reaches out to turn him over. His leather jacket is slick with blood under her hands. Careful of any unseen wounds, she gently lays him on his back.

She can feel a sound leave her throat, but its gone in a moment and she has no idea what it was. It could have been a gasp, a sob, a scream...

Her head whips around to Carl, once again lounging in his Adirondack and flipping through the paper. The headline on the front now reads, _Missing Captain Rescued after 930 Years_.

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

Carl meets her eyes over the top of the paper. "Should it have changed anything?"

She hears the specificity of the question, _should_ rather than _would_ , but has no idea how to respond. After a moment, Carl takes pity on her.

"I didn't lie to you. Nothing has materially changed. So whatever made you say yes, its as true now as it was five minutes ago."

As much as she feels like the planet has been pulled out from under her, she knows he's not wrong. Someone had needed her help and she'd said yes, and that was still true.

She gazes down into the emaciated, bloodied face of Gabriel Lorca, and wonders how the hell she's supposed to explain this to Saru without betraying the Guardian's trust.

_So much for not having to beg forgiveness._

"Burnham to _Discovery_ , two to beam directly to Sickbay."


End file.
